HumptyDumpty
by kismet-wayfinder
Summary: "6 miligrams could lift the pain", or so was said. But if one piece of the puzzle crackled, it wouldn't be long before no matter what amount of medicine could quite glue it together again.


**I own nothing. But I wanna get a coffee perculator real soon.  
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><p>Alice was a girl who tended to take what people of authority said to her quite seriously. As such, she especially took whatever the doctor told her to be quite serious and accurate, as well. She felt quite sure that she could trust him, above all others, as far as it came to finding a way to uplift a relatively depressing sort of mood she often felt herself fallen under. She believed the doctor for all it was worth when he told her that the prescribed pills she'd picked up at the chemists' would lift this troubled state of mind.<p>

_SIX miligrams_, she read aloud to herself as she sat on her bed in her attic bedroom. Desiring no water, she dry-swallowed one of the off-white, diamond shaped little caplets, before lying back on her bedspread and staring upward at the beams of the ceiling.

It was all a work of marvel to Alice, how so much wood and nails and mere determination itself could lead to a construction such as a house; a house, a home, a place of confinement - either way you looked at it, you _did _have to find yourself to be awestruck by its ability to exist and stand at all. Through rain, snow, hailstorm, heavy winds - any such thing you could imagine - it withstood it all, without fail. 'Twas an infallible construction of humankind, and it indeed fascinated her so, most probably because she Alice herself felt anything but infallable. She had a special sort of vuneralbility all her own.

Sitting back upward again now on the bed, Alice swung her legs over the side of it. Her striped-stockings and black Mary-Janes mere milimeters away from the floor as she did this. Glancing over toward a nearby dresser, she gave a sarcastic sort of half-smile as she viewed the old, dust-covered porcelain doll which sat upon it.

A piece of the doll's fragile face was broken off and missing, and, to Alice, she might as well have been looking into a mirror image of her own self. And just as glue was incapable of fixing the porcelain doll's ailment of a missing piece of face, SIX miligrams was also incapable of fixing Alice.

Dry-swallowing a second pill, Alice then gave a sigh, before hopping down from the bed altogether, walking over to the dresser, to better see the doll. Frowning at it this time, she lifted it from the dresser top, before carelessly dropping it to the floor, where it shattered into countless pieces. Then walking back over to her bed, she resumed her stance of sitting on its edge, stockinged-legs dangling, picking up the bottle of pils as she did all this, while momentarily closing her eyes. The thoughts that fluttered through her mind then hit her in waves, and were as follows:

_Her father was dead - killed by a weak heart and an ill vapor. Her mother was dead - killed by a self-implemented noose to the neck. Her sister was dead, also - killed by a mugger in the city streets at night while she was walking about, being a prostitute to support herself and Alice._

In many ways, Alice blamed at least the last two deaths on her self, and sometimes it was just too difficult to handle and realizie, SIX miligrams or not.

Opening her eyes again, she realized that she and her once cherished porcelain doll had far more in common than one might have thought. If a little glue or medicine couldn't fix her or Alice before, then a little glue or medicine certainly couldn't bring all of their many pieces back to together again now, either.

And so, Alice then decided, trustworthy or not, her doctor had been wrong with his diagnosis that she merely pick up a few pills to fix herself. In truth, she knew already before she'd even really began that they'd be of no permanent, legitimate help to her. SIX miligrams weren't going to fix her, nor were TWELVE, or any other amount, either. No, nothing could put poor Alice back together again.

And as such, just as she'd taken mercy on the old doll, she decided to finally take mercy on herself, as well. Walking over to the sole, triangle-shaped window there in the asylum attic she called her bedroom, she pushed upward on it, until it was opened up as much as it'd go. Then turning around so that her back faced the opened window, she let herself fall freely backward, coming to eventually meet the same fate as her porcelain doll.

And as _with_ her porcerlain doll, all of the pieces were finally set free.


End file.
